


31 Days Of Ficmas

by TerminalVelocity



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Good Omens (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Jupiter Ascending (2015), Labyrinth (1986), Original Work, Rome (TV 2005)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:21:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21643603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerminalVelocity/pseuds/TerminalVelocity
Summary: Well apparently this is a thing I'm doing this year, thanks to VR-Trakowski and the Tumblr Fic Fam
Kudos: 3
Collections: 31 Days of Ficmas 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> December 1st, 2019 - Workshop

_On The First Day Of Christmas_

Sarah climbed the height of the Castle's large ivory tower and huffed quietly as she nearly tripped over her gown's hem at the top. She tried the handle of the thick oaken door; locked of course; and clutched her gown higher and tighter to her breast. She turned on her heel, and glared up into the mismatched eyes of her husband.   
"Are you sure this is really necessary, Jareth? You've never made a fuss about clearing out any of the other rooms in the castle before-" The tall, otherworldly blonde leaned over her with an enigmatic smile and opened the door with the lightest of touches.   
"Why, Sarah~ After all these years, you still don't trust me?" he murmured softly, turning her right way 'round and ushering her through the door. The petulance at the long climb and the interruption of what _had_ been shaping up to be a very lazy, self-indulgent sunday, faded from her face. 

"Oh-" she dropped the sage green folds of her dress to the dusty floor; caught up in the moment as sunlight spilled through stained glass windows across the floor, and caught the occult objects lining the walls. Here were ancient tomes left half-open and covered in marginalia. There, a collection of crystal orbs. Desk overflowing with notes and models and little brass instruments- the walls covered in maps; some crumbling, some as new as though just completed a moment ago. Against that wall, a fireplace. Bookshelves upon crates upon stacks of books- And, in the center of it all, a little marble lectern and a thick leatherbound tome wrapped with crimson cording. 

Jareth smiled to himself as she rushed off into the garret, exclaiming over this or that object. When she'd come of age, he'd gone back for her. It mattered not whether by trickery, guile, enchantment, or choice. She'd come back, she was his, and in the intervening years the magic of the Labyrinth had changed her. Taken those "certain gifts" and magnified them. And now, here in his old workshop, she would finally learn to harness them. 

"Blessed Yule, my Queen," he said softly, and turned to look for the book they'd been discussing before their picnic lunch had been forgotten. The answering smile on Sarah's face was worth all the bother it had taken to get here. 

"Merry Christmas, Jareth."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> December 2nd 2019: Tinsel

It was a fact nearly universally acknowledged that, at christmas time, one went out of one’s way to Make Nice. In a way, it is a time of Idealism. Of Peace On Earth, and Goodwill, and fluffy white snow and little lights that glittered in windows and made kaleidoscope patterns in the frost. Of Father Christmas, and Stockings, and roasted chestnuts on the fire- perhaps scaring one just a little when they exploded.

What it meant, in _practice_ , was too often spending more money than one had, to impress people one cared very little for, and going into debt just in time for the New Year to roll in and start Tax Season.

> _*Taxes had been one of Crowley’s favorite inventions- all the forms and loopholes and recursive documents that seemed to pile up and go nowhere. Though, of course, Aziraphale might well have argued that Taxes were the realm of Heaven, and Righteously Doling Out To Caesar according to Christ._

But this Christmas, with the End Of The World behind them by several months, a fresh blanket of snow outside the windows, and a vinyl record playing in the little bookshop in SoHo, Aziraphale and Crowley were doing their level best to think only of the good things. The right and proper sort of things. _Their_ things.

Aziraphale, done up in the usual assortment of peach and cream and ecru, was doing his level best to decorate a tree without the use of miracles. A tree that; by any other description; might have done well in a school play. Or perhaps outside a cheap grocer who hadn’t gotten through his head that his decorations might be, just might, be the littlest sad and in need of a good watering. 

And so, when Crowley blew through the door in a gust of icy wind and a swirl of snow and cast his eyes upon the tree taking up a good fifth of the room and spreading its branches over the endless piles and stacks and wobbling bookcases full of tomes…. well. It did not sit well with the Demon.

“Oh, now, Angel, you can’t mean that _that’s_ the tree you found!” There was a measured disdain in his voice, as he unwrapped his rather fashionably crimson scarf and hung it to dry. “You made it sound-” here he paused, and found the soft, pleading face of the angel- HIS Angel- turned upwards at him. “…..much less magnificent than it is.” The demon had to hide a long suffering sigh in the collar of his coat as he shrugged it off as well; the black leather the only saving grace against London’s winter. 

Aziraphale perked up considerably under the demon’s less than effusive praise, perhaps reading more into it than Crowley had directly meant. He draped yet another clump of silvery tinsel over the douglas fir’s branches and leaned back into Crowley- trusting his demon would be there with a steadying hand. 

The Tree- full six feet tall with several bare spots and a stray pinecone here or there- was draped in endless white lights, mounds of shiny, sticky, silver tinsel; that Crowley _knew_ would just get everywhere and be months if not years in the full removal; and a very large star stuck on the top. Ornaments from their years together; surreptitiously hoarded and added to over the decades and centuries; and… underneath, a small pile of presents done up in silver, gold, and tartan bows. 

“It looks wonderful, Angel. Happy Christmas.” Crowley gave Aziraphale’s hand a little squeeze. His angel squeezed back.   
“Happy Christmas, my dear.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> December 3rd, 2019: Cider

As what had seemed like an Eternal Spring slid into a hot, aching Summer, and in its time turned its face towards Autumn, the country of Narnia looked with growing unease towards Winter. Since the breaking of the witch's Curse by the Great Lion, not a few hearts had prayed never to see the ice and snow in their lifetime. And yet, in this there was no overbearing, thick sense of being smothered slowly in one's sleep. Only a very natural dimming, of sleepiness on fog-covered mornings at false dawn and thicker woolens to cozy up in at night. It was in this manner that Time moved forward, quickly approaching the equinox.... Samhain. 

~*~

Lucy ran lightly through the halls of the Cair, her young feet making little sound against the ancient stones. In her haste, she nearly ran into the back of the very person she'd been looking for. Tumnus turned, hooves clicking on the marble tiles, glossy black fur and short curls. At the sight of his young Queen his face lit up, and he caught her hands, spinning her into a few short, dancing steps. Lucy's laugh lingered in the air like bells, his answer a spark of wildness that at her age just ignited her rebellious need for adventure and sunlight. He bowed over her hands, and she stared up at him, laughing and catching her breath before they shared a knowing look and raced for the doors. 

~*~

Years passed. Time flew onward and outward in the changing seasons and migration of the birds and herds. Winter came to be seen as a friend- as a warm white blanket thrown across the whole country so that they might sleep and repair themselves. In spring, plants pushed out of the good dark earth and the children of the forest awoke from their slumbers. In the summer came the hunts and harvests and long nights in the deep woods where fires were built and songs sung. And, in the Autumn... the bonfires grew bigger and brighter against the growing dark, and the Old Narnians kept to the Deep Magic while their Kings and Queens either pretended not to notice, or came to join them in turn.

First came Peter, years of indoctrination and remembered catechisms from Back There plaguing his mind. And yet, when he came to the fires as a young man and was caught up in the dancing and what came after, he returned to Cair Paravel with a knowing in his eyes. Settled, and less restless than he had been in the past. The memories of painted skin and fur, of bodies in the firelight and the endless Narnian music that throbbed and rang through earth and sky binding him ever more tightly to the land and its people.

Susan, for her part, never truly partook of the festivals. Part, and yet not, she came to the firelight for the dancing but did not drink the wine Bacchus proffered, nor did she allow herself to be caught up. She was with Narnia, but not of it. And if anyone thought less of her, they had the grace not to mention it to their Queen.

When Edmund's time came he responded much as Peter had done, and with less judgment. And if the skin he caressed was as much male as female, took as much as he gave, well. So much the better for the King called The Just. 

~*~

At the turn of the year, with leaves changing colors and the Dryads all wearing gold and crimson and rustic brown, Lucy grew restless. She had thrown herself wholeheartedly into Narnian custom and tradition, and held the Deep Magic close in her heart. All her youthful springs and summers had been spent wandering the wood and water surrounding Cair Paravel- she gave as much precedence to the counsels of Beast and Creature as she ever had to Man. And, in listening, became ever more Narnian, to the chagrin of Susan and several human members of their Court. Time and again she reminded her siblings that, as they ruled Narnia, they should be a part of it. She swam with the Naiads and merfolk, drank with dwarves and satyrs, danced with the fauns and forest spirits and raced the woodlands trails with beasts both Talking and dumb. She, who had little memory of Back There, felt no guilt or judgment in the arms of those who loved her and she sought none to soothe her spirit as Susan might have done. 

And so, when after a tiring day of meetings and councils and seeming endless supplicants to the Thrones had gone and dinner had been well and truly done with, she crept away to her room and shed the finery of the capitol and chose instead a simple green linen gown, took a cloak from the wardrobe, and left the castle behind. The night air was beginning to turn chill as her bare feet hit the grass of the lawn. One quick glance over her shoulder, and the Queen was racing through the mist and brisk air towards the distant sound of flutes and drums. 

~*~

The fire had been stoked higher by the Dryads, who cast off bits of themselves and of fallen branches every so often to keep it roaring. Surrounding it were a raucous ring of Fauns and Satyrs, catching hands with various nymphs and spirits, dancing to the beat of the water drums and flutes others were playing. It was to this scene Lucy came, winded, chest aching with the fierceness of it all. Hands and paws and claws caught her up, and pulled her close, and she did not blush when they undid the ties of her gown and painted her pale golden skin in whorls of blue and green as they had been painted. 

Her body moved to the music and her feet followed, and soon enough she was laughing and singing along to the wild, racing beat. It echoed from the earth, a tide that pushed and pulled at her until she succumbed. Cold water from the stream flowed with warm wine and spiced cider and she was drunk with it and yet more wholly herself. She shared bowls and goblets and cups with those assembled, dancing now with a faun and then a dryad and here a satyr caught her hands and spun her through the rippling light. Sparks flew upwards into the dark and starlit sky where even the Stars were dancing. 

And, when she turned to find a new partner, a laugh on her lips and the music running wild with the beat of her heart- there he was. As she somehow knew he'd be. 

And Tumnus took her hands, eyes dark and wild and knowing, and led her back into the dance.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> December 4th, 2019: Tree

Jupiter Jones had never meant to become anything more than what she was. Not really. She'd resigned herself to her life, for the most part, even while yearning for the sort of life her clients had and hoped, in the secret places in her spirit, that perhaps... someday- But when your "someday" is a alien wolf angel on flying boots and an endless galaxy of people who'd gladly see you dead or used for their own gain, well. Life on Earth started to look nearly as attractive as it did cramped and unyielding. 

In the aftermath of the refinery blowing to pieces and her family's rescue, Jupiter knew that at some point she was going to have to tell her family what had happened. She'd seen the cracks in her mother's memory already- the Keepers might be good at their jobs but there was little even they could do against the human spirit and desire for answers. Still though, as she helped her aunts prepare for a traditional Christmas, she couldn't help but think that something had to give, somewhere. 

~*~

The first snowfall had come as a surprise to Cain. He'd spent a few months on the Tercie world, and had rather expected it to behave as most of the other planets did. Geosynchronous orbit, environmental lock at the most comfortable season, and perhaps better control of its population. What he got seemed to be something of a death planet. There was no ruling council, few wardens, and everything seemed geared to cause as much chaos as possible. He supposed, in quiet moments, that it had its uses. Constant war kept the population high as warriors heading off to war usually wanted to leave something of themselves behind... usually in the form of a child or other physical legacy. And physical comfort was generally pretty high on the list when it came to emotional needs for those in romantic couplings or other arrangements. 

Still... he hadn't quite expected ice to just start falling from an otherwise normal sky. 

When he heard the seventh variation on the same "carol" in the space of an hour and a half, he nearly came unhinged.

~*~

While her aunts and cousins started yet another argument in the kitchen, Jupiter slipped out the front door and onto the porch. It was the space of a few moments before she heard the rustle of wings and Cain dropped lightly into place beside her. His features looked slightly different, the "likealyzer" removing the animalistic features in favor of something more human. The wings folded up into his coat, somehow. She'd never gotten a clear answer out of the taciturn lycantant. 

"So... are you ever going to come in?" She asked quietly.  
"It's a bad idea, Your Majesty," he managed a wry smile. "The amount of questions you'll receive- here from your family, and out there from the Gyre," He paused, and looked down at his interlocked hands.  
"Are you bored of me?" Jupiter hated the quiver in her voice, hated how her hands shook, hated that her eyes burned. Cain's warm fingers wrapping around hers was nearly enough to break her tight grip on her emotions.  
"I could never be bored of you, Your Majesty," he murmured, green eyes staring back at her. "I'm only worried about your reputation, about how much harder you'll have to fight millenia of tradition if you have me by your side."

Jupiter huffed a rather watery laugh and shook her head.   
"If you think that's going to stop me, Cain Wise, you don't know me at all." She shoved herself to her feet, and tugged him up after her. "Come on. You have to meet everyone, and we decorate the tree tonight." 

In the distance, the sound of carols and sleigh bells didn't sound quite so grating as they had that afternoon. Caine turned, and followed his Queen inside.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> December 5th, 2019: Gingerbread
> 
> My apologies for the lateness of these updates, friends- I started a new job and the hunt for insurance has begun!!

The noise in the Great Hall at breakfast was always rather alarming, even after you got used to it. There were four Houses all clambering down at different hours from one tower or another, or up from the basements and dungeons of the castle. Molly Prewett was sat quietly to the end of the Griffindor table, watching the bustle with wide eyes. It was the Yule of her first year at Hogwarts, and the preparations for the ball were ongoing- even though she knew first years were not invited; due to rather silly things like bedtimes and such she thought; it was sort of nice to know that, at some point, the ancient castle walls would hold yet more light, and laughter, and good cheer. ....even if the good cheer came at the expense of loud noises. Like that odd muggle thing the Weasley boy was whirling about his head to get it to clack and clatter while trying to explain its purpose to some of the other Purebloods surrounding him. She quickly pushed her books off the table and into her bag, swallowed the last of her tea, and left before it all became more overwhelming than it needed to be. 

~*~

Arthur looked after her when she went. _It was the Prewett girl, wasn't it? And... didn't she have older brothers? Perhaps? But then maybe he'd been mistaken-_ He was distracted from her sudden departure by his friends, who were loudly demanding he make the "muggle thing" make noise again and couldn't he explain how it worked any better than that? Arthur returned to their conversation, oddly feeling like something was missing. 

~*~

Down the years, Molly started to keep track of time less to the calendar, and more by the holidays that passed by at Hogwarts. Dark and Light Purebloods celebrated different holidays she knew. Like the Dark Families celebrating Walpurgis and the height of Dark Magic on the longest night of the year, while Light Purebloods waited impatiently for the Summer Solstice. Eight holy days, eight High Holidays, and then, at the end of the year.... Yule. Her favorite. 

The sparkling lights and candle glow. The bright wrappings on the presents that owls dropped onto the tables, the green trees and wreaths and garlands that draped the head table and some of the railings on the moving stairs. The castle seemed to come alive at Yule in ways it didn't at other holidays. _Though, she wasn't particularly inclined to mention how the sun glowing through the windows at dawn on the Solstice moved her to tears last year either, nor how every shadow seemed to jump out at her on the night of April 30th when Dark Magic ran rampant all night until the dawn of Beltane, thanking you kindly._

~*~

As Yule approached for another year, Arthur found himself drifting closer to the Prewett Girl as he'd come to think of her more and more frequently though she never seemed to notice. She was a sensible person, a logical and analytical one. No nonsense, his mum would have said. But still... he'd noticed how on the Holidays she'd go out wandering the halls, and maybe sigh over the way the stars seemed to disappear on Walpurgis when the Dark roamed the place between the stars. Or how the dawn light glowed in a special way on the morning of the Solstice. How she'd sigh and moon over the baby birds and bunnies on the Spring Equinox, or the colors of the leaves during the Autumn one, just before Samhain. 

Quite suddenly, he was certain what he'd need to do to get her attention and, if he were lucky, to keep it. He set about preparing briskly, and hoped she'd continue her pattern of exploration.

~*~

On the evening of her fourth year at Hogwarts, Molly found herself wandering the halls. She could hear the very distant sound of music from the party in the Great Hall, but the lights and sound weren't drawing her in. Not that she'd been invited, anyway. Or could have been, due to her age. And yet, still she dressed up warm in a brightly knit jumper, and neat skirt, and her normal, sturdy shoes, and took to wandering wherever the Castle wanted her. Down the moving stairs, and up strange halls that might not have seen a student in years.... until she found Arthur Weasley, curled up against one of the long casement windows, watching the stars from the wide window ledge. Molly immediately stopped and turned to go, but as luck, or fate, or chance would have it, he heard her foot slip on the stone floor, and looked up.

"-oh! It's you, isn't it?" he asked softly, "Prewett. You've brothers, don't you?" Molly nodded, near frightened to speak. This odd, muggle loving, gingery-haired boy was too strange and yet, too like her in so many ways perhaps. Perhaps maybe she _should_ get to know him better. 

"Yes," she was a bit breathless by the look in his eye. A sort of knowing, hopeful, understanding. "Gideon, and-"   
"Fabian, right," he murmured, and slid down from the casement. His feet hit the floor with a dull sound, and his robes settled around him once more. "And you're Molly." He offered her his hand, and kissed the air above it, as a young Pureblood does for a Pureblood witch his own age. "Arthur Weasley, and..." He stumbled over the right words, and finally just managed to croak out a mundane, if very genuine, plea. "If you're willing, I noticed you sort of wander the castle on the hols. Would you mind some company, this go round? I'd rather like to get to know you,"He dropped her hand, and brought out a little package from Honeyduke's. "I've got gingerbread?" 

Molly blushed, a bright cherry shade, and nodded, shyly taking the white box with its striped ribbons.  
"Yes, please.... Arthur." Arthur offered her his arm, and they strode off slowly down the halls, the quiet echoes of their conversation a warm, and welcome counterpoint to the distant carols below.


End file.
